"Well, then, shall mere glory distract you? Look at the swiftness of the oblivion of all men; the gulf of endless time, behind and before; the hollowness of applause, the fickleness and folly of those who seem to speak well of you, and the narrow room in which it is confined. This should make you pause. For the entire earth is a point in space, and how small a corner thereof is this your dwelling place, and how few and how paltry those who will sing your praises here!....The Universe is change, life is opinion."
Fellow Philosophers,
I hope this finds you well. Today, we’re going to continue our series exploring the biographies of a few famous philosophers from history.
Today, we look at the life and wisdom of Marcus Aurelius. We’ve studied him many times before here at TPP, but today we’re going to take another perspective—at the people and events that surrounded him.
What we know most about Aurelius is what remains of his pensive reflections in works like Meditations—a near-daily self-reflection based in Stoicism. Aurelius was so thoughtful and such an intense student of philosophy, that he is known by many as the true Philospher-King.
Aurelius inherited a role as Roman Emperor which—by that time—was largely accepted to be dictatorial and authoritarian. Julius Caesar had usurped power from the Senate hundreds of years prior to Aurelius and completely changed the nature of Roman rule and political culture—he normalized militarism, violence, and authoritarianism.
In this unlikely environment Aurelius emerges, not as a typical power-hungry autocrat, but a student of Epictetus, deeply committed to self-growth, and keenly self-aware. By all accounts he was wise, measured, compassionate, and kind—not the usual qualities of a dictator.
But what strikes me about Aurelius beyond his rare nature, are the ways in which he was seemingly blinded by love to the threats posed by those closest to him.
For example, he consciously broke with tradition in insisting his son Commodus succeed him as emperor. In that time, succession wasn’t based on name, but merit. It was common for an emperor to choose a valiant general or well-known politician and adopt them as heir—in this way maintaining a certain stability and predictability.
Against all advice, he insisted that Commodus inherit the position—even as Commodus appears to himself reject the role. How could such a thoughtful, reflective person remain so stubborn in the face of council and even the apparently obvious desires of his son?
In another drama, it was rumored during a military campaign that Aurelius had died. This rumor spread rapidly around the empire and was believed as fact for months.
In this time, Aurelius’ wife began an affair with Aurelius’ most trusted advisor who managed his personal estate in Egypt (and who many thought should have succeeded Aurelius as Emperor) and convinced him he should ride for Rome and take the throne.
On his way to lay claim, it was discovered that Aurelius was in fact not dead, but the movement by his advisor had too much inertia behind it to be stopped.
As such, Aurelius was forced to leave campaign, protect the city, kill his friend, and it appears that his wife took her own life in the process.
Upon his actual death, Commodus would ruin a period of Roman Peace, abandoning his duties as emperor to pursue a sort of fantasy-life fighting in the Colosseum as a gladiator.
How was it that such a man remained ignorant to his son’s capabilities and wishes—that his Stoic adages of acceptance and compassion didn’t apply to this core relationship?
How was it that a man who surrounded himself with the brightest minds of his time, ignored their council to uphold tradition? How was it that his advisor and wife would so quickly seek the throne upon his supposed death?
I was struck this week by the events of his life because it is such an important reminder from history regarding the limits of wisdom.
Wisdom isn’t the right side of an equation, that if inputted perfectly produces the balanced answer on the right side.
Wisdom—as we discussed last week—is an imperfect dance of love and growth which leads one to an authentic understanding of themselves. This journey isn’t about getting it right to speak, and cannot possibly determine or control the lives of those around us.
We make mistakes along the way, and must show ourselves compassion when we do—in fact much of Aurelius’ writings in Meditations is indicative of that process.
Rather, as the life and reflections of Aurelius show us, wisdom is the ability to know oneself—not the version of oneself that the world sees or those closest to us wish us to be, but who we are in truth.
If we measure wisdom by this metric, perhaps we would adjust our judgements about who is truly wise, and who we should remain hesitant to trust.
I hope you enjoyed this short reflection my friends. Until next week, farewell.
Matt
References:
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Avidius_Cassius
https://penelope.uchicago.edu/~grout/encyclopaedia_romana/severans/aurelius.html
https://www.oxfordreference.com/view/10.1093/oi/authority.20110803095627439
Thank you! I like your conclusion.